


Memory Blank

by cockabeetle, Kymopoleia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: France got bombed and lost some memories, Gen, Prussia thinks he might be dying, everything is puppies and rainbows i swear, its not as bad as it sounds, or as sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cockabeetle/pseuds/cockabeetle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Kymopoleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis paused and turned around, weighing his options. He could tell this man his problem and hope he wasn't someone terrible, or he could brush him off and struggle on his own. Finally he sighs. "Do you know the password to my phone?" He asks.</p><p>Gilbert blinks. "Well... you never exactly told me... but..." Gil rubs the back of his neck, looking away. "The password's 5626. Joan."</p><p>Francis nodded, not sure why the name would have any meaning to him. He goes over to the piano and picks it up, inputting the number. The phone opens and he sighs in relief. "Thank you." He says before hesitating. He doesn't know what else to say.</p><p>Gil frowns worriedly. "Hey, how much do you remember? The bombing hit your data archive, it wouldn't surprise me if you forgot some stuff." He plasters a big smile on his face, to try and hide the fear he's feeling all of a sudden. "It's not like you'd forget the awesome me, normally, right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There's a ringing in his ears and a dull ache everywhere when he wakes up, eyes slowly blinking open to see a ceiling and a light. It takes a long minute to realize that he's laying on the floor, but by the time he manages to sit and eventually stand, nothing more is clear. The room he's in looks like a kitchen, but he doesn't know whose. He glances around and sees a pile of mail balanced precariously on a jar of honey, and glances at the first piece to see if he can figure something out from it- which he has trouble with. It's addressed to a Francis Bonnefoy, but when he glances down at his shirt and pants, he's unsure if he feels like a Francis. The only thing he knows for sure is the pain in his head and that something is deeply wrong.

Gilbert is worried. Ludwig is out walking Blackie and the other dogs, so Gil has to watch the bird, check the mail and file some papers for his brother, and get ready for a date/hanging-out session with Francis. He'd been writing a quick log of the day, with the radio playing in the background. He'd texted Francis a 'good morning! >)', waiting for a reply, when a reporter starts going on about a bombing. Gil pauses to listen, worried it happened in an area Ludwig is at, until the reporter mentions it's in France. It takes Gilbert two seconds to relax and then tense again, because while his little brother is fine, his... boyfriend? Best friend? He's never sure what to call Francis, but they're close, is possibly hurt and probably alone. Gil sends him text after text, because Fran still hasn't responded to the first. After two more minutes of waiting for a reply, he scribbles a note for Ludwig telling him that Francis needed him all of a sudden, so could Lud please feed Gilbird and finish changing the paper lining his cage?  
Gil boards a train to France, internally panicking about what might have happened.

Francis, having decided to stick with the name until something better was heard, starts to absentmindedly wander the house. It's not the largest, but there are many interesting things that say a lot about whoever lives there. At some point there's an annoying buzzing in his pocket, and he checks it to realize it's a phone. He has thirty missed text messages and no clue what the password is, so he puts it back in his pocket and keeps wandering.

Gilbert sends another 20 texts on the train, and the moment it's stopped he's running out the station to the nearest bus stop. He's never hated how both Fran and Tonio live out of the way in rural parts of their countries more until either of them is hurt.

The phone keeps buzzing, distracting Francis from his search and annoying him, so he leaves it on a piano he is certain he doesn't play. Blue fuzzy pajama pants and a shirt with the German flag on them don't translate into someone that plays piano.

Once the bus stops at the closest stop to Francis's house, Gilbert tears out of it and into the streets to run the last couple miles. He understood the importance of being alone, but was this necessary? And it's about this time he remembers he forgot both Gilbird and his iron cross at home, which makes him feel alone and naked, respectively, but he ignores it because Francis needs him more. Once he reaches the door, he reaches up, searching the upper frame of the door for the spare key Francis kept there. He'd put it back once he unlocked the door, because Fran wasn't exactly aware Gilbert knew about it. Even considering his history, people still assumed he didn't pay much attention to his surroundings.

Francis had happened to be inspecting the coat rack when the door opened for a panting man, and he's startled into grabbing his chest and jumping. He shakes his head after a moment, muttering "Mon dieu..." before the idea pops into his head that this may not be his house.

Gilbert sighs in relief, seeing Fran up and about, even if he looks a little frazzled. It's weird how he's still in his PJ's, but Gil doesn't blame him. "Oh, good, you're awake. You okay, Fran? I heard about the bombing..." He rubs the back of his neck, trying to play off the burn in his chest and face from over-exertion and embarrassment at showing how much he cared- if it'd been faster, he probably would have run to Fran's house from Lud's if need be- as anything but. Admitting his feelings wasn't something he wanted to do.

Francis blinks. Bombing? Fran? He accepts that his name is Francis, but the rest of what the man had said made no sense. After a long pause and choosing his words carefully, he replied. "I'm fine, I don't think there was any damage. Come in?"

Gil stares for a second, forced smile dropping as he tried to figure out what felt... wrong, about what Fran just said. He comes in anyway, tugging on his scarf in nervousness. "No damage...? You sure? You really don't look that great, Blondie."

Francis shrugs and turns, heading for the kitchen to get a glass of water and offer the other man something. "I'm fine. Why did you stop by, again?" He decides it's safe to ask him that over his shoulder, trying to seem casual and as if nothing is wrong.

Gilbert blinks. "Uh. To check on you? Wh-why? Do you not want to s-see me?" He manages to finish his questions without his voice cracking, but it's a near thing. "We had a... a date today."

Francis winced. "Oh yes, it must have slipped my mind. This morning has been weird for me."

Gil winces himself. "S-sorry. Are you ok though? Really?"

Francis paused and turned around, weighing his options. He could tell this man his problem and hope he wasn't someone terrible, or he could brush him off and struggle on his own. Finally he sighs. "Do you know the password to my phone?" He asks.

Gilbert blinks. "Well... you never exactly told me... but..." Gil rubs the back of his neck, looking away. "The password's 5626. Joan."

Francis nodded, not sure why the name would have any meaning to him. He goes over to the piano and picks it up, inputting the number. The phone opens and he sighs in relief. "Thank you." He says before hesitating. He doesn't know what else to say.

Gil frowns worriedly. "Hey, how much do you remember? The bombing hit your data archive, it wouldn't surprise me if you forgot some stuff." He plasters a big smile on his face, to try and hide the fear he's feeling all of a sudden. "It's not like you'd forget the awesome me, normally, right?"

"Data archive?" Francis can't help but ask. "I don't..." He bites his lip, trying to remember what that could possibly be.

Gil watches his face. "Do you remember anything? Your job? Your boss? Monaco, or the America twins, or me?"

Francis looks at the other man for as long as he can before he looks away. "No." He says finally.

Gilbert nods once. "Well, l-lucky for you, ever since Lud started his memory problems, I've been keeping a log of my life. I-I can read some of it to you, maybe jog s-some memories? I never got the courage to sh-show it to you before, but m-maybe..." He takes a deep breath, "Maybe it'll help. I don't have much between 1935 and the 90s, but hopefully you won't need those."

Francis looked back at him. "If you want to try, I need all the help I can get." He rubs his arms and looks around the room, wondering again at each of the objects and their purpose in his life. It dawns on him that he doesn't even remember what he looks like, and he looks back at the man, who now looks like he's about to cry. "Do you know where the bathrooms are?"

Gil blinks, and then he nods. "Just in that hall, first door on the left. I'll book another train, I live in Germany with my brother." He isn't sure if he should add other details just yet, or wait until they're in front of the diaries to explain.

"You're a contact in my phone, right? Text me, please?" He doesn't think he's the type of person who would name his contacts silly nicknames, but right now he doesn't know enough to draw any conclusions. Even if it was a silly nickname it might make the man smile, and something in him wants the man to be smiling again.

Gil blinks, and then he sends the text he'd been about to, when the bus had stopped. 'Are you okay?? I love you, please stop ignoring me.'

Francis puts in the password again and almost doesn't hide the smile of triumph when it opens. But then he sees the latest message, along with nearly thirty others, from a contact named 'Gil <3'. His throat tightens and he nods. "Please come back soon?" He asks, looking up at him.

"Sure thing, Fran, be back as soon as I can." He rubs the back of his neck, and forces another smile. It doesn't reach his eyes, but then again, his smiles usually don't.

Francis nods. "Wait, where am I again? I haven't been outside, and I doubt I'd recognize my surroundings if I did."

"France. Just outside Colmar. You grow grapes out back, for wine."

Francis nodded, trying to figure out how far Germany was from there, since Gil had said he was from there."I will be here when you get back." Francis turns and heads for the bathroom, trying to forget how he'd almost said 'back home'.

Gil nods. "Alright. See you in a couple hours. You should have food in your kitchen, if you get hungry. Want me to bring anything?" He fiddles with his scarf.

Francis paused. "Maybe some of your clothing and things you associate with me? Would you be comfortable spending the night for a while?"

"Of course, Blondie. Anything for you." Gil smiles a little, fiddling with his scarf a little more. "I'll be back a soon as I can." He repeats, and heads toward the door. "Bye, Fran." He mocks a salute.

Francis repeats the motion back at him and waits until the door is closed behind the current only other person in his life. He finds the bathroom and the mirror easily, then spends a long time looking at and touching his face, hair, and neck. He looks young, thirty at the oldest, and all of his features work together to make the face of a tired, yet attractive, man. His ears had stopped ringing sometime during the conversation with Gil but his body still ached. He decides to find the master bedroom, get a shower, and change, hoping that it will help him somehow.

Gil gets home, running almost as much as he did going to Francis's place. Ludwig is back from walking the dogs, and greets him in surprise. Gil gives a tiny smile and jogs to his library to pick and choose the best diaries to take. At some point Gilbird landed on top of his head, but Gil didn't really notice.

Stripping and showering is too easy, but part of Francis wants to shove the clothing back on himself the whole time in the hopes that they would, somehow, restore his memory. That outfit was the last one that the other him, whoever he'd been that Gil knew, had picked out.  
Another part of him wanted to burn it.

Gil picks the earliest ones, those that he'd restored recently, and a few from later. He picked one from the nineties, and the most recent notebook too. He'd finish this morning's log, and maybe add some stuff about Francis. He grabs his iron cross, slipping the necklace around his neck and tucking it under his scarf to sort of hide it from view. He smiles at West and heads back out, two backpacks on his back and a notebook in hand, with Gilbird fluttering around his head. His brother doesn't ask where he's going.

Francis doesn't actually burn the outfit, he merely puts it in a hamper in the bathroom and rubs his hair dry as he wanders the bedroom, looking at all the trinkets and accessories. There was a folded outfit on the bed, but it seemed too formal and he went to the walk in closet.  
There were a lot of clothing and more shoes than he cared to count. It takes him ten minutes to find a simple, loose shirt and pair of pants that seem perfect for lazing around the house. He hasn't considered going outside, mostly because of Gil's concern about a bomb that'd apparently gone off.

It takes a little longer for him to get back to France, because the next train didn't leave for another 20 minutes, but Gil could wait. He played angry birds on his phone until it arrived, and spent most of the ride alternating between playing it and talking to Gilbird, worried, about Francis's condition.

Francis eventually makes it back downstairs to the kitchen. The hour since he'd woken up inside of it had been... informative? He knew his name, his phone password, one of his friends (boyfriend?), and he had a possible cause for his amnesia. He notices a half-finished cup of coffee on the counter and grimaces when he tastes it and finds it sickeningly sweet and cold. He tosses the cup and then, after a moment's consideration, the pot.

Gil takes the bus again, and runs the last couple miles with a smile on his face. Hopefully everything would work out and nothing would be wrong, maybe when he gets back Fran will even be normal and the whole forgetting thing was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, or temporary! He stops in front of the door, trying to keep his smile up as he finds the spare key. Yeah, right, like his luck will ever be that great.

Francis makes an omelet while he reads through his text messages. There are lots of different people and all of them seem worried for him and the apparent explosion at the parisian data archives. He's confused when he finds a map and realized that he's nowhere near there.

Gil opens the door, and smiles a little at the smell of food. Fran's one of the best cooks ever, it's one of the best things about him. Maybe he'll make pancakes. He hoists a backpack higher onto his shoulder, smiling a little more as Gilbird cheeps tiredly. "Hey, Fran. How're ya doin'?"

Francis takes a second to look up from his only draft, a message to Gil saying 'good morning, I love you'. "I'm in the kitchen!" He calls, glad that the omelet looks large enough for two.

"I can smell." Gil laughs. "You makin' breakfast?" He leans against the doorway, grinning.

Francis glances at him, smiling warmly and sliding the phone into his back pocket. "Yes, would you like some?" He still doesn't remember much but if anything is clear it's that he cares for this man.

"Sure. Didn't get to finish my cereal this morning anyway." Gil grins a little. "I brought a bunch of the diaries, if you still wanna hear them."

"I still don't remember much, so whatever you think can help me is something I am interested in."

"Cool. We'll see what helps, the awesome me has some experience with this sorta stuff already." He puffs out his chest a little, trying to hide any insecurity he's feeling. Reading documented events hadn't actually helped West remember anything, but that doesn't mean it won't help Fran. It has to.

Francis nods and serves the omelets. He pours two glasses of what might be juice but could possibly, probably be wine and settles by the counter, eating standing up because it seems easier than anything else.

Gil chews the omelet he's been given, humming softly. "Is there anything you remember? Any languages or things?"

"English, French..." Francis thought. "Possibly Vietnamese? And I remember general things, but nothing about my life."

"Huh. Well, we'll start as early as we can, and move forward? I don't have my first early days documented, because I was busy and I didn't have any real reason to, but I'm sure I can paint a picture, my memory's not fading that much or anything." Gil scratches the back of his neck. "...If you think that'll help. It was easier with West. I was around when he was born."

"West?" Francis asked, trying to remember if Gil had a sibling before, of course, being reminded that he doesn't remember anything. "Whatever you think will help."

"My little brother." He supplies, and pulls off a backpack to pull out one of the diaries. This one is just titled 'Birth.' It spans 1190 to 1730. Not that it'll be very useful, though it does have one of his favorite accomplishments in it.

Francis looks over the composition notebook, taking in how full it is. The book looks three times the size of one with no writing in it, which it seems to have an abundance of. "Ah. Does this start with his birth? How long have we known each other?"

"My birth, actually. And we've known each other for a long ass time, Fran. Went to war together a few times, even on the same side."

Francis blinked. They were soldiers? War veterans? The thought reminds him vaguely of feeling cold and scared, but it's gone with the next bite of omelet. He doesn't mention it to Gil in case it's nothing.

"I don't have much of you in this one, though the later couple entries mention you. I just called you France, though. We weren't all that close, even after you'd taught me the language these're written in. You were busy with your little brothers, and I was busy forming a military state."

Francis pulls his phone out. "What are their names?"

"Uh. Arthur's kinda still one? You two don't get along that well now though. You were also kinda close with Feli and his twin, Lovino or something, I don't know that kid that well." He chews his omelet, opening the notebook with his free hand. "You've got Monaco and Wy, now, and maybe Seychelles? Plus Matthew still likes you."

Matthew and Monaco sound familiar, but Francis still can't remember who they are until he realizes they'd been among the many to text him. "Go on?" He prompts, gesturing at the book.

"Oh, um." He flips a few pages, mumbling. He's careful to only use his clean hand on the book, to keep from damaging the paper. "Where is it..." He finds the ascension of Frederick Wilhelm, in 1713, and then when his wife attempted to arrange a marriage for her children, Frederick the second and Wilhemina, with their cousins in Britain. It didn't work because Austria's ambassador was a dick. He's not sure if he should start there, or with the event that actually matters to him, when Old Fritz tried to run away to Paris with his friend, rather than deal with being crowned prince. Gil had managed to convince him otherwise.

As Francis waits, he let's his mind wander back to the thought of being a soldier. He goes through his mental images of them and realizes that they aren't general thoughts or actors, they're memories. He remembers all sorts of different costumes and weapons, blood and pain and sickness, but also laughter and wine and dancing. He remembers a hundred different mirrors all reflecting his face back at him, always surrounded in a different uniform. He remembers something solid and real. He doesn't try to hide his smile, even though the memories aren't all good.

Gil glances up, and smiles a little. "Remembering something?" He sighs. "Where should I start?"

"I have. You mentioning war helped... maybe something with that, since it's the only thing I can remember right now?" Francis suggests.

Gil laughs. "Oh, that's easy! I've been in more wars since I was founded than practically anybody else. The awesome me is the best at combat."

Francis can't help the nod and the smile, though the claims of awesomeness seem out of place compared to how Gil had acted earlier.

Gil flips a page. "Well, this one doesn't have any wars featuring you in it, but it does involve my favorite boss. He was gonna run away to your capitol, but I managed to keep him from actually doing it."

Francis, assuming that the 'your capital' bit is an inside joke about his name and living in France, assumes that he's speaking about Paris. "Ooh, it sounds very interesting, almost like a novel." Francis replies, sipping the wine.

Gilbert laughs. "I think somebody did write a book about it. If he'd made it, he and his page might have lived all happy and junk until your revolution, but I talked him down. I could tell he was going to be important, and I was right. He made me into the awesome, amazing military state that I was in the 19th century. All thanks to Old Fritz."

Francis held up a hand. "Wait. Military state? 19th century?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand. Is that slang? A nickname? A code?"

"...no? Oh jeez, I'm gonna have to explain this aren't I," He groans, closing the book and rubbing his face with his other hand. "Ok. So, uh... what do you think we are?"

"Humans?" Francis replied. If there was one thing he knew, it was that they were humans. "People? European?"

Gil sighs. "Not really. I mean, I'm eastern European, technically, but that's not really here nor there. We're too old to be human, Francis. I was founded in 1190, at least that's what the Knights told me. You're a good 700 years older than me, Fran."

Francis almost questioned the term before the last sentence was said, and he blinks, trying to understand. Nothing makes sense in it, and the only conclusions are romantic book plots. He shakes his head, suddenly doubting Gil's information. It didn't make sense.

"We're personifications, Fran. You represent the roughly 66 million people in France. I was dissolved by Hitler in 1934, and officially by you and the rest of the allies in 1947. So, I don't have any people anymore. I'm living on borrowed time." Gilbert forces a smile. "Not that it matters! The awesome me is too great to die!"

Francis feels cold and concerned, something that he now knows is familiar from his time in the war.

"Don't give me that look, Blondie. We're focusing on your problems right now."

"I don't have any problems, I'm just someone who barely remembers anything. Your problems are more important." Francis insists.

"Francis. I'm here with my diaries to help you remember things. It's more important to me that you remember everyone- your family, your friends, everyone else- more than talking about my inevitable fading. I'll die at some point and I came to terms with that 80 years ago, Francis. I've accepted it. Is it so much to ask that one of my best friends, one of the people I'm closest to, remembers me? I already know there's a chance my little brother will forget me again, I don't want anyone else to."

Francis sighed and looked away. "I'm sure I didn't want to forget you. I've already mostly come to terms with my... condition? I am fine with it, there's nothing I can do on my own. You are someone I care for and the idea of losing you is already too much to bear."

Gil rubs his face. "It's not like I /want/ to die, I've just gotten used to the idea that it could happen at any time. But that's beside the point! Do you believe me about being Nations now? Because I'm not lying. Soldiers don't lie to their superiors."

Francis furrows his eyebrows. "Soldiers? Superiors? Was I your military supervisor?"

"I was a military state, and you were an empire. But you weren't my empire. I built my own with my bare hands."

Fran simply stares at him before shaking his head. "This is all a lot to take in."

"Sorry. I'm not very good at non-military tactics."

"I trust you, I really do, but it's hard to believe that I am still whoever you knew, and I don't think I could be an empire. Maybe a put upon futbol mom or a tired aspiring artist, but not an empire."

"You had help, and you lost your empire, ya pansy." Gil huffs. "And of course you're the Fran I know."

Francis gets an exasperated, scared look on his face. "How I can I be someone who I do not know?"

Gil frowns. "It's not a matter of knowing the person. You've always been Francis. You developed into the person I knew over the course of your life- which is, as I said earlier, nearly twice as long as mine- but you're still that person. You still have those memories, and reactions and preferences, you just can't remember them unprovoked right now."

Francis shook his head. "I don't know where to start to provoke them, I don't know if I want to."

"I know it'd be easier to forget things, but it's not fair to the people who you care about to let yourself forget everything. They deserve to be remembered, even if it's just by you."

"How can you know I'm just like him? How can you know that I could ever be that person for anyone again?" Francis wrapped his arms around himself, stepping back from the counter.

Gil growls. "Because I already went through this with my little brother, and he might not have ever gotten his memories back, but he acts the same way he always had and he even made friends with the same people. He became an empire again, twice, and he's stable and happy now. If my brother is still my brother, then you are still m- Fran. You're still Francis."

"I don't know him, I don't know any of these people!" Francis says much louder than necessary, frustrated.

Gil blinks. And then he grins. "That can be fixed." His eyes got an evil glint to them, and he seemed to sport fangs for a second, before he pulled out his phone. "West! Hallo. Ich brauche dich in den nächsten Zug nach Frankreich, pronto."

Francis stares at him talk, catching only a few words before weakly sighing and taking the used dishes to the sink. He looks at it, full of dishes, and is displeased, but does not feel like putting in the effort to fix it.

Gil had glanced up from his talk, still answering his brother's questions. "Natürlich ist es für Francis. Sie hörte von der Bombardierung, nicht wahr? Bringt von Ihren Papierkram, wenn es dann fühlen Sie sich besser." He pauses, getting up and moving the phone to the crook of his neck and shoulder so he can start cleaning Francis's dishes and sink.

Francis steps aside to let Gil at the sink and is pleased when he begins doing dishes. It also confirms his earlier question on whether they were dating- obviously. They may even be engaged, though neither had a ring.

"Ja, ich will dich hier so bald wie möglich-was? Yes, I'm doing the dishes! What of it? I do them when they bother me!" He defends himself, growling a little into the phone. "Just get off yer ass and get on a train, West!"

Francis works on making another pot of coffee when the pot and cup from earlier are clean, unable to stop smiling despite his earlier frustration.

"Whatever. Just hurry up, would you? Pleeeeasssseeee West. For me?" He whines a little, splashing the water onto a bowl.

Francis can't help but snort. The whining sounds unbearably cute coming from Gil.

"Ja. Dank, West. Lieben Sie Sie." Gil makes an obnoxious kissing noise into the phone.

Francis shakes his head. He's not entirely sure what is happening, but whatever it is sounds like it makes Gil happy and, as such, is likely a good thing. Francis wouldn't associate with people who did bad things and Gil wasn't the type.

Gil uses his chin to hang up, and wipes a hand on his shirt so he can tuck the phone into a pocket. "Lud'll be here in an hour or two. We might not have the same coloring, but he got my awesome good looks!"

"Wait, who is coming here?"

"My little brother. West." Gil grins. "Raised him myself." He puffs out his chest a little, proud.

"Good job, I'm sure you did a wonderful job." Francis assured him. "You seem like a good, reliable friend and a better partner." The word slips out before Francis can filter it out, but he hopes it is not taken negatively.

Gil preens a little, even if the wording's a little weird. He's being praised!

Francis watches the coffee as it bubbles. "What kind of person is your brother?"

Gil hums. "West is a stickler for rules, and he's not that great with people. Of course, that's my fault. I'm not... good with people. Easier to fight tooth and nail for respect than earn it, or marry into it. Didn't really do alliances outside of war."

Francis hummed. He felt like he could work with either method, but he'd rather avoid it all.

"West is strong. He was built to be an empire, and I made him as great as I could." Gil splashes the water onto another dish. "His bosses had a habit of using our loyalty against us, though."

"That sounds like it was hard." Francis commented.

Gilbert shrugged. "I have a history of... not-so-nice rulers. Just because I liked some of them, and was loyal to all, didn't mean I couldn't recognize who was good or bad for my people. I represented East Germany during the cold war, it was almost as unpleasant as the camps."

Francis bit his tongue at the last word, unable to stop the bitter flood of memories surrounding it. Pain and death and disease and fear, a thousand voices crying out. Francis shook his head to try and rid himself of the sudden chill.

"West never got to see them, they were too... barbaric to let him see. He'd have broken if he'd seen them. Cares too much for his people and his leader. Could have caused a split in his psyche." Gil never talked about this before. But it was something he knew France had lived through too, so he didn't feel bad telling the nation now. "I wouldn't ask him questions, though. He's been trying so hard to make up for the wars."

Francis nodded. At some point in the conversation he'd accepted that Gil believed that they were the personifications. Even if it didn't make sense, Francis had trouble not believing him due to the earnest way Gil talked and showed emotion.

Gil sighed. "Sorry. I'm still a little shaken up about... the old ways of war are dying. And I... those were my lifeblood. I don't have anything to do anymore."

"Well, you must have plenty of hobbies and other obligations worthy of your time?" Francis suggested.

Gil huffs. "I run a blog, and I take care of West's house and stuff. I do laundry, and take care of the pets and stuff."

Francis nodded. "You can do all of those things and you spend time with me. Am I a nothing?" He asks the question before he remembers his earlier argument that he's someone else.

Gil freezes. "No! That's not what I meant at all! You and West and Tonio and everyone else have jobs and people and things that need you. I. I'm just..." his voice cracks. "I'm just a relic from a time when honor on the battlefield mattered..."

"The pets you take care of, the bird, me, right now are all dependent on you. Say, I believe the empire thing, then imagine you're not. You don't have those obligations and you can do whatever you want. You're not trapped, you're free." Francis grabs Gil's hands. "You're free in a way your brother is not."

"I don't want to be! I was born to serve, to be a soldier. But I don't have anyone to follow..." Gil's voice cracks again, and then he takes a deep breath, burying the emotion under a mask, where it should be. "Wh-whatever, the awesome me should just, just ignore that stuff anyway! I have more important things to do with my time. Like your dishes, you heathen."

Francis had almost replied, but then he called him a heathen and Francis couldn't help but wince.

Gil huffs, turning back to the dishes. "I'm too awesome to be reflecting about these things." He mutters, scrubbing at a bowl.

"Do you need to follow someone?" Francis asked softly.

Gil pauses, and glances at Francis out of the corner of his eye. "H-huh?"

"Do you need to follow someone?" France asked louder.

"Uh, um..." He bit his lip, and glances at his hands. "Yes."

Francis thinks for a minute. "I'm not sure if I am the right person for you to follow, but you can try. Me, your brother, someone you trust not to... screw you over."

"Scheiße." Gil groans. "I can't make these kinds of decisions spur of the moment..." He rubs his face with one hand, and goes back to doing the dishes.

"You don't have to, I never asked you to. Just think about it." Francis smiles, wanting to kiss Gil but not remembering if that'd be alright. He wants to be there for Gil.

Gil grumbles to himself. He feels his phone vibrate, signaling that West is probably half-way to France.

Francis looks around the kitchen. "Why are there chickens? The little statues, salt and pepper shakers, potholders, why chickens?"

"You like them? You used to be a farmer. You're a weirdo." Gil huffs.

Francis clucks his tongue. "They're hideous. Remind me to replace them with something."

"Maybe." Gil grins a little. "If they still annoy you later I might pretend to like them."

Francis looked over at Gil in mock horror. "You wouldn't."

Gil gives him the most innocent look he can make. "I wouldn't what?"

Francis grabs a towel and throws it at Gil. "Bâtard."

Gil laughs, and splashes Francis with some of the water. "Whatever, Fran!"

Francis gasps again and throws a potholder back.

Gil cackles. "Is this a battle, Fran? Because I'll win it!" He's got half a mind to grab the sink's nozzle-hose-thing, but for now just splashes a bit more water at the older nation.

Francis narrowed his eyes and slipped on the two oven mitts, creeping towards Gil.

He pretends not to notice, grabbing the hose and using it to rinse off a pan, humming to himself a little smugly.

When Francis is right behind Gil, he reaches out and tickles him, grinning from ear to ear.

"Jesus Christus Scheißen!" Gil squawks, one hand dropping the nozzle, and the other shoots back to hit the assailant in the face with his elbow. There's a satisfying crack, and it takes Gil two seconds to realize who he just hit. "Scheiße ficken. Sorry, sorry, tut mir so leid."

Fran let go about the same time the elbow broke his nose, and he reels back, eyes blinking owlishly as he tries to remember how to tilt his head to keep the blood from getting- where wasn't blood supposed to go? Gil's elbow had also hit him in the right eye, and it's hard to blink away tears.

"Oh god I am so sorry, fuck." Gil turns off the water, turning and tilting Fran's face down so he can look. "Did I break your nose? Fuck, I'm so sorry."

Francis can't help the low whine when his face is grabbed, but he lets Gil, no matter how much he just wants to sit down. The blood isn't flowing freely, but it is annoying and smearing over his lips and chin.

Gil sets Francis's nose, a soft crunch following the action. "Sorry, fuck." He uses his wrist band to mop up the blood, biting his lip. "Sorry, I'm sorry."

Fran shook his head, closing his eyes. "It's fine."

"It is not. You're already fucked up, I shouldn't have added physical injury to it. Fuck, did I give you a black eye too?"

Fran shakes his head again, but stops when he starts feeling slightly dizzy. "It's fine, I should not have snuck up."

"You shouldn't have, but you didn't know that." Gil wipes a bit more blood off of Fran's face, before grabbing a napkin and tearing it apart to stuff up the bleeding. "I've been trained since birth to react as if I'm attacked in just about every situation. Sneaking up on me is pretty much always a bad idea."

Francis manages a soft laugh. "I'll not to repeat the mistake."

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Gil pets his hair lightly, frowning. "Well... you don't look that bad? I mean, there's gonna be some serious bruising in an hour, but..." Gil pauses. "Fuck, West is gonna be here in, like, twenty minutes."

Francis glanced around the room. "Is the only mirror in the bathroom?"

"You've got some in your guest room and your room, but otherwise yeah."

Francis nodded and slowly headed for the bathroom he'd been in earlier to clean the blood off.

Gil sighs. "Sorry!" Gil goes back to the dishes.

When Francis returns, his face has significantly less blood on it and the bruises have started to develop in dark shades of purple and blackish green that doesn't compliment the skin tone he'd been fascinated by earlier.

"Sorry." Gil mumbles, scrubbing a plate.

"Stop apologizing, s'il vous plaît?" Francis asks, slowly coming up on Gil's side and leaning on the counter next to him. "I'm sure it is nothing."

"You look like you were at the explosion." Gil says bluntly. "All you need is a broken bone or a bit more blood on your shirt." He finishes up the plates, and rinses off a couple pieces of silverware.

Francis hummed. "Is that a bad thing?"

"You can't lie and say nothing happened anymore." Gil grumbles. "Which was a stupid idea on your part, really."

"I was unaware anything had happened, besides me losing my memory." Francis huffs. "I was very confused."

"Yeah, but you still should have admitted it. Hiding injuries doesn't suit you, Fran."

"You are the first and only person I currently know, cut me some slack, s'il vous plaît?"

Gil winces. "Sorry. You'll be meeting West in..." he pulls out his phone to check, when a precise 3-part knock sounds against the door. "Oh. Now."

Francis automatically starts for the door, bare feet padding over the hardwood quickly but not in a hurry. He opens the door near gracefully to see a tall blonde man. "Salut," he starts, gesturing for him to come in.

Ludwig frowns. "Frankreich? Is that you? My brother didn't mention any bruising, I would have brought medical supplies." 

Gil huffs from his spot at the sink. "Those're my fault! You can yell at me about reactions later!"

Francis shrugged. "It is what it is. Would you like something to drink or eat?"

"I am good, thank you. My brother didn't mention anything aside from the bombing, but I assume something is off? He would not have called otherwise."

Fran took a second before sighing and rubbing his arm. "There was no physical damage, but I am having memory problems. He called you to help."

"Ah. That makes sense. I have some papers I need to finish, do you mind if I do those before asking any questions? I've found making lists and answering questions helps with memory loss."

Francis nods and goes back to the kitchen to check on the coffee.

Ludwig sits down at the kitchen table. Gil finishes with the dishes, finally, and goes to sit on his brother's back while he does paperwork. It helps with cricks in Lud's neck and Gil's back, so it's become something of a common occurrence. It's sorta like a grown-up version of Lud sitting in Gil's lap while they did paperwork.

"Do you want coffee?" Francis calls, already making himself a cup and experimenting to see how much sugar and how much milk he needs.

Gil gags, but Lud makes an agreeable noise.  
"Yes please!" and "Ew gross!" are said at the same time.

"Sugar? Milk?" Francis calls.

"Two teaspoons of milk, and one sugar cube, if you could? Or whatever unit of measurement your sugar is in."

Francis measures in teaspoons for the sugar and milk and takes a sip of it, sure the German man won't mind. He appreciates it, but finds it a bit too strong.

Ludwig signs another page, and pauses on one asking about sending aid to France over the bombing. It must have come in while he'd been out walking the dogs. He reads it over, and thinks about what type of aid his people should give Francis's.

Gil pulls Gilbird off his head, humming something and petting the bird's head with two fingers.

Francis brings out the coffee and stands next to West, disinterestedly glancing over his papers. Some is in German, some not, and he eventually nods, deciding that he definitely does not know german.

Ludwig smiles up at him gratefully, taking the coffee and taking a swig. "Danke, Francis."

"I thought I taught you better than to drink that stuff unless you needed it, bruder." Gil grumbles, scratching under his bird's chin.

"We do need it." Francis distractedly replies as he stares at the small ball of yellow fluff.

Gil wrinkles his nose. "No you don't." Gilbird tweets, and hops up Gil's wrist to peck at a wristband.

"It helps me concentrate, Osten. It's like you and birdsong."

Francis hears the high pitched noise and realizes it's a bird, eyes widening and then narrowing. He realizes that a lot of things are fuzzy, especially the farther away they are, and that bothers him.

Gil glances up. "Eh? Fran? Somethin' botherin' ya?"

Francis makes a noncommittal gesture and a frustrated noise.

Gil pouts. "Ya gotta use your words, Blondie. The awesome me can't read minds, even if it would be totally amazing if I could."

"Everything is... hard to make out. I didn't realize that was a bird until the noise." Francis admits, looking at Gil. He's not sure if it's the swelling in his eye or just his eyes themselves.

Gil blinks once, and then his eyes widen. He hops off of Lud, who grunts, and jogs off to grab something he remembers Fran hiding in the living room. Gilbird tweets in annoyance and decides to land on Francis's shoulder rather than catch up with his owner.

Francis turns his head and finds that the bird is much easier to see now, and he can make out individual features besides the feather-down fluff.

Gilbird coos and nuzzles against Francis's neck. Gil skids back into the room, glasses case held triumphantly above his head.

Francis turns and blinks, wondering what the small box-ish thing in Gil's hands is.

Gil offers it to his friend, grinning from ear to ear. "Here ya go, you might need these."

Francis opens it and finds a pair of glasses. He pulls them out and puts them on, then nods as he looks around. "Oui."

Gil grins, internally cheering. Fran looks super cute with glasses, no wonder Matty is so cute. They're both like awesome little birds! Gilbird flies over to land in Gil's hair, and Gil decides to climb back onto West's back. West hums, signing a few more documents.

Francis moves to sit in the chair next to the one Gil and West are occupying, softly wondering if the chair will break from stress. He hopes not.

Gil leans back a little, sighing as he gets into the right spot. Lud hums again, and Gilbird flutters down to peck at his fingers as he finishes up his paperwork.

"Are you two here often?" Francis asks after the silence feels too stretched. Not uncomfortable, just stretched.

Gil shrugs. "I stop by your place all the time, but Lud's only ever in France for business or when I ask him to come. S'not like he doesn't like you, he's just busy all the time. Plus him and Italien spend all their free time together."  
"Bruder!"  
"What? It's true!"

"Italien?" Francis asks, guessing but unsure as to who that could be.

"Ita-babe. Feliciano, He's one of your little brother-figures. You adopted him back during the renaissance, he still calls you big brother sometimes."

"Feliciano." Francis tests the word on his tongue before nodding. "Beautiful name."

"He's a cutie. His brother's cute too, I guess, but that kid has one heckuva frown." Gil laughs. "Lovino, I think. S'that right, West?"  
"Ja."

Francis nods, and glances through his recent messages. He has texts from both of them. "Should I reply to them?"

"If ya wanna? S'up to you, Fran. They're probably worried. I bet Feli cried when he heard about the bombing, big softie he is."

Francis decides to text him back then, a simple 'I'm fine, everything's okay.'.

Gil yawns, and leans back against his brother a little more. Lud sighs softly, and pushes his papers away, he's apparently done for now.

Francis gets an immediate barrage of texts back and throws it across the room, frowning. He regrets it as soon as he does it, but throwing it felt nice anyways.

Gil watches it fly, eyebrows rising. Lud just sips his coffee in silence.

Francis leans his head on the table, sighing. He's tired of dealing with things.

Gil yawns again. Lud glances up at his brother.  
"If you're that tired you should take a nap, bruder. You did a lot today."

Francis looks up at Gil, gauging him. No matter how sure he is that they- well, Gil and whoever he was before the bombing this morning- were dating, he's finding it a bit hard to guage how he would react to things.

Gil grunts. "I dunno, West, I'm pretty comfortable here."

"A bed would be better." Francis volunteers.

Gil grumbles. "But I'd have to get up for thaaaaatt." He whines.

"But blankets and cuddling and pillows," Francis suggests.

Gil makes a considering noise. West smiles softly.  
"Go ahead, bruder. I will more than likely head home, unless you wish me to stay?" Ludwig glances at Francis. It's gotten late, and he can ask questions later. When his brother is less clingy and the air doesn't make him want to sleep, too.

"My home is always welcome to friends." Francis replies, lifting his head, even though he doesn't quite remember if he's seen West's face before somehow. It's familiar in a bad way.

Gil hums. "You can stay here, West. Fran has a guest room. You can join me in it when you want to? It's been a long time since sharing a bed was normal, but the bed's probably big enough. You should have stopped growing when I told you to."

"Or you and I can share a bed?" Francis suggests to Gil. Even if he and West were together, they weren't currently close enough for him to be comfortable with the idea of sleeping together.

Gil glances up, surprised. "Uh, sure? That's ok with me."  
West grunts, petting Gilbird and sipping more of his coffee.

Francis nods, pleased with the result of the day so far. "My bed should still be comfortable."

"Ja." Gil yawns again. "D'ya wanna go to bed now, or...?"

Francis quickly finishes the coffee, feeling more and more tired by the minute.

Gil yawns, sliding off Lud's back and tugging at his scarf tiredly. "You know where your room is, right?"

Francis isn't sure who's being addressed and glances between the as he stands, stretching with a satisfying crack of his back.

Gil looks at Francis expectantly, rolling onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels as he waits.

Francis blinks, pointing at himself. "Me? Do I remember where my room is?"

"Yes." Gil nods, yawning.

Francis gestures at his outfit and still-wet hair, making an offended noise.

Gil grins, and wanders over to lean on the Frenchman. "Good." He yawns again.

Francis wraps an arm around him and smiles at West. "If you need anything, my house is open. Chances are I will not remember that I owned it."

Gil laughs, and nudges Francis forward. "C'mon, West knows. He's known you since he was little. Which is surprisingly not that long ago, even though it looks like it should have been."

Francis looks at Gil, surprised. "I'm older than him?"

"You're older than me, remember? West is my little brother. Well, not so little anymore. But he's younger than me."

Francis looks between them consideringly. "Hm."

West just finishes his coffee and gets up to clean the mug in the sink. Gil huffs softly. "West is my baby brother. I mentioned raising him earlier."

"I know, I'm trying to figure out how old you both are."

"I told you my age a while ago. But I'll be 26 in a few months. 826, to be exact. I found Lud about half way through the 19th century. He's the baby of Europe."

Francis looks over at Ludwig. "That's not too old."

"Are you referring to me or West? You're almost twice my age, you know."

"I am?" Francis asked before shaking his head. "It is too late for this. Let's get to bed."

Gil laughed. "Yeah. Okay. Lead the way? Or should I?"

Francis starts walking, knowing where his room is and how to get there and being mildly offended at the insinuation that he doesn’t.

Gil follows with another yawn. "Y'know I didn't try to offend you, s'was a fair question. You forgot everything else."

"I found it earlier to take a shower, I do not forget that quickly." Francis rolls his eyes.

Gil shrugs. "For all I know, you found the guest room."

"A guest room with clothing in the hamper and a full closet of clothing? Non." Francis starts up the stairs.

Gil huffs. "Knowing you, it could be. You're messy, Fran."

Francis huffs and doesn't reply.

"Sorry, sorry. I probably shouldn't tease. Especially after hitting you. Does your face still hurt?"

"I'd mostly forgotten." Francis touches his nose lightly, unsurprised by the slight twinge of pain.

"Careful. We might be able to heal from just about any wound, but that doesn't mean they heal instantly." Gil yawned again. "Bet your eye's gonna hurt for a while too."

Francis gets to his room and goes inside, looking around again. "It will not hurt as badly as other things." He says, not bothered by it.

"Still. I don't like hurting my friends. Especially when we're not at war."

"And we've been at war?" Francis asks as he pulls off his shirt.

"Duh."

"Is it hard, considering our history?" Francis works at getting the pants off in favor of the pair of sweat pants he'd set aside earlier.

"...Eh. Depends on what you mean by hard."

"What do you mean?"

"Going to war with you is easy. I know you so well I can predect your moves before you do, sometimes. Same thing when we're on opposite sides. Real big issue now is the lacking-of-an-army thing I have right now. And the lacking of a population. Plus war nowadays is tasteless slaughter, there's no honor in a death during war, now. It's just sad. So going to war with you was easy, but now it's impossible."

Francis hums thoughtfully as he crawls into bed. "That's fair."

Gil nods, yawning again and waiting for Francis to settle in. "I miss the old days of war. No such thing as 'civilian casualty'."

Francis nods, wincing as he remembers some gruesome cases. "Why do I remember war?"

"You still have your memories, you just can't recall them easily. Plus, anything your people remember, you remember. It's kinda simple. And there's always war happening, even if you're not part of it."

Francis winces and curls into Gil's side. "I don't want to."

Gil pats Francis's hair, humming softly. "Sorry, Blondie. Can't do much for ya, we've lived too long /not/ to have deaths and regrets that haunt us. You've got Joan for one."

Francis doesn't remember who that is, but he does feel sad.

Gil cuddles a little closer, toeing off one of his shoes so that it plops off of the bed. "I'm always, always gonna miss Fritz. Forever, probably."

Francis slips an arm around Gil's waist, humming.

Gil hums, tugging his cross out of his shirt as he toes off the other shoe. "D'ya mind if I put this on the night stand? Don't want it to choke me."

Francis shrugs and then frowns when something digs into his face.

Gil pulls off Fran's glasses too, with a smile. "You probably shouldn't sleep with these on, either." He places both accessories on the table with care, before settling back to cuddle with his friend. "D'ya wanna try the journals later, or would you rather let West ask ya questions?"

"Whatever you want." Francis shrugs.

Gil hums. "'Kay. I'm gonna sleep now. Gute Nacht."

Francis leans up to press a kiss to Gil's jaw, mumbling good night back.

Gil was too close to sleep to react to the kiss. He probably wasn't gonna remember it in the morning. At some point Gilbird flew up to land in his hair and fall asleep there, as usual.

Francis falls asleep, head on Gil's chest and leg thrown over Gil's.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized that i hadn't posted the little snippet between last chapter and the old beginning to this one  
> so enjoy gil having a nightmare im still proud of

Gil's had this dream hundreds of times. It starts in the study at the Sanssouci palace, Fritz looking both frail and regal in his seventies. Gil had noticed his king was slowing down, locking himself away. But he always let Gil and his dogs close, until the dogs died. Then, one day, suddenly, Fritz's heart gave out. He'd been feeling sick, and had written out his request- to be buried with his dogs in a crypt in Sanssouci- when he'd just... stopped talking, mid-sentence, and died. At least, that's how it really went. Gil's mind like to play tricks. Sometimes Fritz exploded. Sometimes he turned into a zombie. Sometimes a knife, or an arrow, or some other projectile appeared as if summoned out of his chest, killing him instantly. After the creation of missiles and atomic bombs, those were added to the ways Fritz could die. Sometimes he died of Mustard Gas poisoning. Sometimes, he was dead at the start of the dream, a decomposing corpse speaking his final words with a half-rotten smile. He usually woke up screaming after these dreams.

Francis wakes up to screaming and struggling from Gil, and in his half-asleep confusion he wraps his arms around Gil's waist, trying to keep him from falling off the bed.

Gil flails, an agonized wail ripping from him. He tries to rip free from whatever's holding him, but can't really do it through the tears. He ends up just curling in on himself and sobbing instead.

Francis peppers Gil's chest with kisses, trying to remember what helped and only remembering a dog to help him through World War 1 and 2's PTSD. It hadn't been an official one, but it licked him when he cried in his sleep enough to wake him.

Gil whimpers, and clings to Francis, when he registers the other's presence. "Es tut mir leid, mir leid, ich bin so dumm, aber es immer noch so sehr weh tut," he manages to mumble, repeating himself a few more times; "mir leid, it hurts. Why does it still hurt?"

Francis doesn't know what to say, so he clings tighter and tries saying, "Because of love," to see if that works. Nothing else in his head sounds nice.

Gil sniffles, and wipes his face. "Was? What's that gotta do w-with Fritz?" He hiccups, sniffling a bit more.

Francis suddenly feels like he understands. "You loved him?" He volunteers.

Gil pauses. "B-but it's been almost 230 years, I shouldn't still..." He wipes his face, hiccupping again.

"It's been 534 years since Joan." Francis replies softly. He'd dreamt of her, and while he does miss her, he knows Gil needs him more than he needs time to grieve for a long lost love. "Time doesn't mean anything to the heart."

Gil blinks, and smiles a little. "You remembered her? That's... that's good." He rubs his face again. "Sorry, nightmares make it a little hard to get through the night."

"It's fine, the world will simply have to wait for us." Francis squeezes Gil's side reassuringly.

Gil huffs softly. "The world waits for no one. It's always moving forward, even when you don't want it to."

"Then we'll let it move, and catch up when we decide to. If we do." Francis wishes things would make sense sooner.

Gil grunts, and leans into Francis a little more. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe."

"If nothing else," Francis says finally, "we can sleep a little longer."

"Ja. I like that plan"

Francis presses a kiss to Gil's chest and cuddles even closer to him. "Oui."

"You're oddly touchy-feely." Gilbert grumbles, but cuddles a little closer anyway.

Francis pauses, trying to remember everything. He'd been going off of the assumption that they were together and what felt right beyond that.

"S'nice though." Gil hums, and mumbles a few more things in German before falling asleep.

Francis relaxes and, after a few minutes, falls asleep again too.

~o~

When Gil wakes up, he feels a weight on his chest. It's not a metaphorical one, not that he doesn't have metaphorical ones. He glances down, and sorta stares at his friend's head for a minute. "Hey Fran... I meant to ask you this last night, but uh..." He pokes Francis's head. "What're you doing down there?"

Francis had been drifting awake for some time, and cranes his head to look at Gil. "It is comfortable."

"Was? Nein, I'm bony as hell. That can't be comfortable at all."

"Have you ever laid your own head on your chest?"

"I've fallen asleep with my chin on it. And I can feel my ribs through my skin. So it can't be comfortable." Gil huffs.

"Do you not trust that I have a reason behind everything I do?" Francis clucks his tongue.

"I'm sure you do, Frankreich," Gil pokes Francis's cheek again, "but I need to understand why you do things."

Francis nudges Gil's leg with his knee, pouting up at him. "Non."

"But Frankreeiiiich..." Gil pouted.

"Gilbert," Francis replies, stopping pronouncing the word about halfway through. "Noooon."

Gil pokes Francis in the cheek. "Fraaaaaaankreeeiiiiiiiiichhh..."

"Giiiiilbeeeeeeert," Francis kisses his chest again.

Gil gasps, and blushes. "Fr- Frankreich... what was that?"

"I kissed your chest through your shirt." Francis replies confidently.

"W- why?" he blushes.

"Because I did?" He rolls his eyes. "Should I not?"

"I-I don't know, why d-did you?" Gilbert blushes more, mumbling a bit more under his breath.

"I do what feels correct." Francis shrugs. "Should I not?"

"B-but. I just... You're weird." Gil grumbles, looking away and blushing a little more.

Francis slowly worms a hand up Gil's shirt, pressing his cold fingers to Gil's warm skin.

Gil squeaks, eyes widening and snapping to the blond. He flails, to get away and possibly kick the Frenchman off.

Francis wraps his legs around one of Gil's, wrapping his arms around him and clinging desperately as he cackles.

Gil squawks, almost shoving Francis back at the nose before remembering he'd broken it earlier and swapping targets to try and shove Fran off at the shoulder.

Fran stops trying to tickle him after a minute, merely laying, mostly weighing Gil down.

Gil calms down after a couple minutes, still blushing, and watches Fran warily. "...What are you doing?"

Francis smiles and starts tickling for real this time.

Gil squawks again, giggling and shoving at Fran as he tries to get away. He manages to smack Fran in the ribs once or twice with his foot.

Francis only stops when he's laughing too hard to breathe, resting his head on Gil's stomach and trying to catch his breath.

Gil huffs, trying to get his breathing and his blushing under control. "Frankreeiiiichh..."

"Giiiiilbeeeeeeert," Francis whines back, sitting up slowly.

Gilbert huffs. "Can we get up now? I need to eat somethiiiiiiinnggggg."

"Nothing has stopped you from getting up." Francis says as he makes his way towards the closet.

"You've been on top of me the entire time!" Gil grumbles, rolling off the bed and stretching slowly. "But anyway. Do you know if you have any pancake batter?"

"I can make some." Francis steps into the closet, running his hands over the different fabrics. He'd looked through some the day before but the variety was still amazing.

Gil glances over. "You want me to leave you alone with your clothes, Fran? I should probably go check on West..."

Francis hesitates in front of some suits before turning to the casual section and pulling out a loose floral print shirt and a pair of comfortable looking pants. "Non, non, I'm fine. You should borrow something, I don't think you brought anything with you."

"I did. S'just in my bags back in your kitchen. I'll grab 'em in a bit and change then." Gil rubs his eye, mumbling. "I'd kill for a juice box."

"Feel free to look through the kitchen." Francis leaves the closet in the outfit, stretching slowly.

Gil hums, and wanders out of the room to check on West and then grab his clothing. He'll get a juice box later.

Francis almost leaves the room too before he remembers the phone and grabs it. Unfortunately, it's dead. So he roots around for a charger and takes it downstairs with him.

Gil finds his brother downstairs with a cup of coffee. West is just quietly drinking his coffee, so Gil starts poking him to try and goad him into making pancakes. West makes practically perfect pancakes.

Francis comes downstairs, self consciously holding his phone to his chest. He had Gil and West right now, but beyond them he only had his phone. To make sure he still remembers, he taps the password in and sighs in relief when it opens.

Gilbert grins when he sees Francis, and waves a little. Then he goes back to poking his little brother's cheek. "C'mon West, pleeeeaaasseeeee?? For me??" 

Ludwig huffs, and sips his coffee. "It's Frankreich's kitchen, shouldn't you be asking him?"

Francis glances between them. "Asking me what?"

Gil huffs softly. "I want pancakes. West knows how to make the best ones, even if Matty's slightly better. I think he invented them, maybe. I'm sure you could make them, but why would you when West could do it?"

Francis narrows his eyes and walks into the kitchen defiantly, plugging in his phone first and then finding ingredients. He automatically begins making something.

Gil huffs, and pokes West's cheek. "D'ya think he has any maple syrup?"

About the same time the first thing finishes, Francis realizes that he made crepes instead and prays Gil has no complaints.

Gil sniffs the air, and hums slightly. It doesn't smell like pancakes, but not quite. Close enough.

Francis finishes a few crepes and frowns at them before leaning back and calling for Gil.

Gil gets up from his spot next to his brother, leaning on the doorframe to smile at his friend. "Whatcha need, Francy-pants?"

Francis gestures at the crepes as he goes to grab some fruits inside the fridge.

Gil whistles, grinning a little and walks over to check the food out. "Ooh, cool. How many did you make?"

"Seven or so? Eight?"

"Cool. How many do you want?"

"Two." Francis says, nodding.

"Cool. And I want 4. D'ya think Lud'll want any?"

"Oui, go ask."

Gil nods, skipping out of the room to go ask. Ludwig makes a noncommittal noise and asks if there'll be any fruit.

Francis sets out blueberries and strawberries and powdered sugar and butter and looks around the kitchen, pleased.

Gil brings out the platter of crepes, and three plates. He also goes back to hand the blueberries to his brother, who makes a pleased noise and begins eating them with his fingers. Gil'd always thought that it was cute.

Francis also grabs some milk for everyone and sits next to Gil, smiling at the meal.

Gil grins at Fran before sliding two crepes at him, and picking a couple for himself to start with.

Francis is proud when they taste good, and he can't help but smile proudly.

Gil grins as he eats, because even if these aren't pancakes, they're close and they taste good. He's also pleased because West is being adorable next to him, popping blueberries into his mouth as he works on something. You could probably taste the brotherly pride at his cute younger brother.

Francis opens his mouth to ask how the meal is, but then the doorbell rings and he freezes, suddenly unsure of what to do.

Gilbert puts his fork down, and gets up to answer the door. Gilbird settles on his shoulder, peeping softly. Ludwig gets up to do something upstairs, possibly fax the papers to his boss.  
"What're you doing here?" Gil'd opened the door, and stares down at the nation waiting there.

Francis had quickly stood to follow Gil to the door, but when he reaches it he doesn't recognize the man standing there at all.  
Arthur huffs. "I'm here to speak to the frog and find out how he's doing."

"Francis is fine, Arty-farty. If you /really/ wanna come inside and find out how he's doing, I can't stop you." Gil steps back, seeing Fran sorta looming behind him. He internally winces at the bruises blossomed over his nose and eye. "He's mostly fine." He amended, feeling guilty.

Arthur steps inside quickly, as if he's expecting Francis to refuse him entry. He grabs Francis' chin and looks at his face with narrowed eyes, and Francis suddenly remembers both the glasses he'd forgotten to put on earlier and a sudden discomfort. He doesn't want whoever this is touching him, but he can't say anything because he doesn't know what their relationship is like.  
"From the bombing?" Arthur asks.

Gil coughs once. "Sure, let's go with that." He steps back a little more to give them space. "Hey Fran, you want your glasses?"

Francis turns to look at him, almost desperately pulling his face from the other's cold fingers. "Please," He starts before remembering that he needs to be polite. Be a host. He steels himself and turns back to whoever it was in front of him. "Would you like some tea?"  
Arthur had been slightly offended at the panicked look on Francis' face and the sudden turn, but he perks up at the mention of tea and nods. "You know how I like it, Francis."

Gil muffles a snort, but jogs upstairs to go get the glasses. He passes Ludwig using Fran's office, which Gil studiously ignores for now because it's probably horrible. But then he has to peak because West finished whatever he was doing.  
"Oh mein Gott in Himmel Francis you need to clean your fucking office!" Gil had no self control.

Francis hears the shout from upstairs and carefully ignores it as he leads what's-his-name to the kitchen, putting on water for cinnamon rose tea.  
Arthur looks around the kitchen and notices the smell of crepes. "Why haven't you responded to my texts?" He asks when he notices the phone, tapping the screen for emphasis.

Gil comes back downstairs, and hears the question. He hands the glasses to Francis, and crosses his arms at Arthur. "He's been kinda busy? I mean, isn't it kinda obvious? He hasn't even responded to any of /my/ texts, and the awesome me is at least three times more important than you, Arty."

Arthur purses his lips as he looks Gilbert up and down. "Fine. It doesn't explain why you haven't replied to anyone's messages then." He looks back at Francis, who's still looking jittery.  
Fran wants to be anywhere but here. He's not sure what he's supposed to say, and smooth lies would feel too wrong in this setting.

Gil sighs a little, and nudges Arthur's leg a little with the toe of his shoe. "You never come to France just to visit, so why are you here, Großbritannien?"

Arthur purses his lips and ignores Gil's question. "Francis. There's a meeting tomorrow to discuss what aid will be sent. The details are in a text I sent you earlier, will you be able to make it?"  
Francis nods slowly, glancing again between Gil and what's-his-name.

Gil hums once. "Okay, I'm sure West and I will need to be there too. West had some paperwork about sending aid, I dunno if he finished it or not though." Gil glances at Francis, and moves over to sort of lean on the blond. "I'm hungry. Can we go back to breakfast now? Arthur can make his own damn tea."

Francis nodded, stepping away from the stove. "I'm sure you know where everything is?" He asks Arthur.  
"Of course I know where everything is, you bloody idiot." Arthur rolls his eyes and leans against the counter. "Why are you acting so strangely?"

Gil pulls away, growling softly. "Because his data archive got bombed, Arty! You'd be acting strange too if your people were dealing with a bombing!"

Arthur snapped his gaze over to Gilbert and, without thinking, replies just as rudely. "And you'd remember the feeling how?"

Gilbert stiffens, and then his eyes narrow dangerously. "Did you just imply that I don't know what it feels like to have my people influence my behavior?" His voice is flat and angry, and his hands are clenched to keep from shaking. "Because you better not have."

"What I meant," Arthur emphasizes the last word. "Is that it's been a while and your memory won't be as good as you think it is."

Gilbert growls low in his throat, and steps forward quickly and decisively, grabbing Arthur by the shirt collar and lifting him off his feet a few inches, so they're eye level. "You want to repeat that, Großbritannien? Because I really want to make sure I'm not hearing things. It'd be a shame if I was going senile, considering I'm the second youngest nation in this house."

Francis fits his hand onto Gil's hip warningly, eyes flitting between them again.  
Arthur sneers at Gil. "I'm not here to bicker, put me down."

"Oh, you're not? Because I could have sworn you just insinuated I'm forgetting things- something you /know/ I'd never settle for. In other words, it sounded a hell of a lot like you want a fight, and I'm /always/ ready to kick your ass, Großbritannien." Gil doesn't really register Francis's hand, but he pulls Arthur so their faces are inches apart. "So tell me again, what did you just say to me?"

"I told you go put me down." Arthur hisses.  
Francis squeezes Gil's hip and tugs on it lightly. "Gil."

Gil growls, but hearing Fran's voice and feeling the tug makes him back off. He lets go of Arthur and steps back, not bothering to lower him or try to make the fall any less jarring. "I don't take orders from you, Großbritannien, but if you /ever/ say something like that to me again..."

Arthur brushes his shirt off and goes back to making tea. "Fine."  
Francis squeezes Gil's hip again, sighing in relief and stepping closer to him.

Gil huffs, and stalks out of the room. He'd love to keep chatting, but now he had a bitter taste in his mouth. Breakfast better fix it.

Fran glances between where Gil left and where Arthur still was. "You shouldn't have said that."

Ludwig steps into the room, holding a stack of papers. "Frankreich I- er, oh, Hallo Großbritannien. How are you?"

Arthur looks him over and huffs as he stirs some sugar into the cup of tea. "My, haven't been this many germans in france since world war two." He mutters, loudly enough for Ludwig to hear but not loudly enough for Gilbert.

Ludwig stiffens. "W-wie bitte? Did I hear you correctly? Because it was clearly stated in the rules following the War that said war was not to be mentioned in front myself or my brother outside of world meetings, to keep animosity down. Am I missing something? Please, enlighten me." He glares a little, papers crinkling as his fists threaten to tear through them.

Arthur turns his head and glances Ludwig over. "No, you heard me fine. I just, frankly, don't give a damn about that particular rule." Francis steps into the room at that moment, having gotten up to get more milk, and pauses, gauging the tenseness between the two.

Ludwig's eyes narrow. "For a self-proclaimed perfect gentleman, you certainly have little tact."

"Tact? Hm, I wasn't aware such a thing existed in this country." Arthur gives a soft, humorless chuckle.

Francis grits his teeth and grabs Arthur's arm, dragging him towards the door.

Ludwig blinks, and then he puts his papers down, walking over and none-too-gently lifting Arthur by the back of his shirt, and out of Francis's hold. "Perhaps I should throw him to the curb, Frankreich? You shouldn't stran yourself so quickly after an injury."

Francis turns to look up at West anxiously, but calms at the expression on his face, one that promises he shares the burst of feeling Francis had had. He nods and gives the other man a soft smile. "Oui, merci, would you like some tea once you've come back in?"

Arthur had been shocked by Francis grabbing him, but now that he's been lifted off of the ground he kicks his feet wildly, hands groping for some part of Ludwig to make him put him down.

Ludwig lifts Arthur up higher, so there's less risk of him hitting Francis, and smiles in thanks. "My brother and I like Rote Grütze, it's very relaxing."

Francis nods and puts a hand on Ludwig's bicep for a long, lingering second. "Merci, now, if you'll take care of that, I'll put it on."  
Arthur scoffs angrily, yelling "Put me down!" finally.

Ludwig shakes Arthur a little in warning, before walking to and opening the door. He chucks the shorter blond out the door underhand, with a shout of "Auf Wiedersehen!"

Arthur lands on his face and turns in time to see the door slam shut and hear it lock.  
Francis grabs two teabags and starts making the cups, fingers still shaking in anger. He's not sure why the little comment bothered him so much, but he's glad that West took over and didn't leave him to whatever he, in that blind moment, would have done. He's glad he didn't find out.

Gil walks in, sipping some milk. "Eh? Did Artie leave?"

Francis turns and smiles at him. "Yes, he's going to have an awful day today. He dropped his wallet over there." He gestures with the spoon he'd been using to the brown leather on the ground.

 

Gilbert whistles. "Ooh. Can I hold it 'til the next world meeting? He'd never think to ask me for it!"

Francis nods. "I don't want to touch it."

Gil walks over and pockets it, grinning.  
Ludwig walks in after a few seconds, smoothing his sleeves out. "I'm terribly sorry about my outburst earlier, Frankreich. Großbritannien just really knows how to push my buttons."  
"He pissed you off, too? Oh come on, it's like he's picking a fight!" Gilbert whines.

Francis pushes a cup of tea towards West. "Non, you are fine. It seems he found my button as well."

Gilbert snorts. "He's good at that. You two aren't as antagonistic as you used to be, but you still don't get along for very long."  
Ludwig sips his tea, sighing softly in pleasure. "Danke, Frankreich."

Francis hands the other cup to Gil and leans against the counter. "It was my pleasure. You'll always be welcome here." He flashes West a smile and turns back to Gil. "What do you mean?"

Gil sniffs the cup, and then his eyes widen and he sips it experimentally. He sighs a little, at the taste, and smiles at Francis. "Well, you an' Artie are older than me, but you're older than him, too. I don't know if you were there when he was born, but you found him pretty early and, with his brothers you raised him. But you and his brothers kinda didn't get along with him, but recently you've been getting along."

Francis hums. "How much older than him am I?"

"About 580 years."

Francis's eyes widen and he can't help but laugh as he goes for the open bottle of wine, pouring himself a considerate amount and downing it in one long gulp.

Gil blinks. "Are you okay?"

Francis shook his head, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. "That's a tres long time, Gilbert." He pronounces the name the French way, leaving off practically half the word.

"You're 709 years older than me, Francis." Gilbert exaggerates the syllables in all of his words, over-enunciating them just to annoy his friend a little. It's funnier in French, but he doesn't feel like breaking that out just yet.

Francis scrunches up his nose at the over-enunciation. "Does that truly matter? I am nearly six hundred years older than the man just thrown out of my house, and seven hundred years older than..." He swallows thickly and shakes his head. "It's too tall a tale. Why do I believe you?"

Gilbert laughs. "Because I haven't said a single lie. Plus, you trust me. I won't ever lead you astray."

"Non, I trust you here," Francis taps his chest. "Not because of what you've already said and done."

Gil blinks, and then he leans forward a little, staring at Francis's face. "Really? It's a gut feeling? Huh."

Francis leans forwards. "Oui. What are you looking for in my eyes, hm?"

"S'weird, is all. I... what you said isn't something I ever really expected to hear from anybody but like, West. I'm trying to... understand."

Francis smiles at him. "Well, as much as I do not mind, you should find something soon. I can't stand here staring all day."

Gil grunts, and then leans into Francis's chest. "You can stand here cuddling though." He feels like hugs are needed. Plus he still felt a little... hurt, by what Arthur had said, so it would be nice to cuddle the bad feelings away.

Francis wraps an arm around Gil, smiling. "Oui, I can."

Gil leans a little more into Francis, wrapping his arms around Fran's torso. "Danke." He mumbles into Fran's chest.

Francis lifts one hand to run it through Gil's hair, sighing happily. "No problem."

Gil relaxes at the feeling. Playing with his hair always makes him relax. "Du bist der beste, Fran." He hears Ludwig shuffle some papers, and steps back to let West have his full attention. His little brother was so cute when he was nervous.

Francis kisses his forehead. "As fun as standing is, may we head for the couch?"

"Mmkay. After West asks his question." Gil nods to his brother, who was waiting to be acknowledged. 

"Ah, yes, Frankreich. I need your signature for these papers. My boss called, we're having a meeting tomorrow in Paris about... sending relief to your people, and these documents specifically cover the aid my and my brothers' people will send."

Francis looks at the pen and the papers, frowning. "Oh?"

"Ja. I understand everything is rather odd, at the moment, but I would still like your permission to send aid. It's not required, but it would help." Ludwig smiles a little hopefully.

Francis steps away from Gil to sign on the empty lines, nodding. "Oui, I understand."

Ludwig smiles a little wider. "Danke, Frankreich."  
Gil claps his hands a little, smiling brightly.

Francis reaches for Gil's hand and pulls him to the living room, smiling the whole way.

Gil laughs a little, but lest himself be led. Gilbird flutters on his shoulder, reminding him of the bird's presence. Gil pets its head.

Francis sits heavily on the couch and pulls Gil down with him, snagging the blanket that had been folded on the arm of the couch to throw over them.

Gil ends up on top, which feels weird considering how they'd slept the night before. He doesn't comment on it, instead just leaning into Francis and burying his face in the blond's shoulder.

Francis kisses his forehead and cuddles him, happy to have a chance to sit and chill after the encounter with Arthur.

Gil hums, and nuzzles against Francis a little. Gilbird had gotten up and was now perched on the back of the couch.  
"Sorry the first nation you met outside a' me an' West was Artie. He's... bleh."

"I doubt I will count him." Francis replies. "Not trés memorable, oui?"

Gil laughs, snickering into Fran's shoulder. "True."


End file.
